Midnight Hands
by sfkillmelater
Summary: Dean goes to help Jim on a hunt. While he's gone John begins Sam's training. It was supposed to be simple. "For days I've been coddling you. Hoping you would really commit to training like you promised. But today I could see I was wrong. But then again, how can I expect you to fight like your life depends on it if you've never had too?" Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

Special Thanks to my beta reader Warr2654. She's the best.

-o-o-o-o-

Prologue

Thursday June 3, 1998 Knowles, Oklahoma

It was early, earlier than normally Dean liked to be awake. He threw his duffle bag in the back seat of the Impala. He was looking forward to seeing Pastor Jim. The last time Dean had seen him, Dad and Sam were with him. They had all stayed at Jim's house up in Minnesota for a month last summer. Jim and his dad worked well together on hunts. Probably because his father would listen to Jim. John owed a bulk of his knowledge of the supernatural to the man. Jim had told John the truth about what was out there. Jim made him believe it, assured him that he wasn't crazy. Jim had unwittingly led John down the path he had followed from then on.

John would have gone to help Jim, but he still had a hunt to finish before heading to Nebraska for the summer. There was some creature killing people in the woods a few towns over. John said he didn't like the idea of Dean hunting without him but Jim needed help or he wouldn't have called. So while Dean was going to hunt with Jim in Minnesota, John would finish up here. Then he and Sam would head to the cabin outside Butte. They would train for the summer. John could find hunts anywhere so he didn't mind staying in one place for a couple months. The supernatural was everywhere.

"You leaving?" Dean looked up as Sam appeared at his side.

"I'm about to. I was gonna come in and make sure you were awake first." Dean shut the back door of the car and turned to face his brother. "Listen Sam, Dad is really serious about this summer. You're in for a busy couple months."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I know Dean. Ever since my birthday, that's all I hear from him. 'Sam you're fifteen you should be hunting already.' 'Sam don't you think you're too old to take so long sharpening those knives.' 'Sam, Dean could do this when he was twelve.'

Dean scoffed. "He just wants you to be prepared. He's looking out for you. You need to stop putting off your training. How are you gonna help us if you can't shoot? "

"I can shoot!" Sam glared at Dean.

Dean gave Sam a look before continuing. "Come on Sam, I know you think Dad's harsh, but he's doing his best. If you wouldn't argue with him all the time things would be easier."

"So it's all my fault?" Sam scowled. '

It was Dean who rolled his eyes now. "Just try to get along with him while I'm gone. Do what he asks, it's for your own good."

Sam's scowl dissipated as he shifted on his feet staring at the ground. When he looked up again, it was to fix his puppy dog gaze on Dean.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?"

Dean smiled. His little brother always hated it when he left. Hell, Dean hated it himself. He knew John loved Sam and would take care of him, but it was Dean's job. He looked out for Sammy. He worried that his dad was making Sam grow up too fast. He was barely fifteen and already he knew more about what was out there than most people ever would. Most kids his age would be messing around or going on vacation for the summer. Sam would be training to fight monsters that grown men would run away from. It wasn't fair but it was their life.

"The hunt is up near White Bear Lake, Minnesota. It's a couple hours from Blue Earth- Jim thinks it's a poltergeist."

Sam smirked. "A poltergeist? Like in the movie?"

Dean continued as if Sam hadn't said anything. "If that's what it is, I figure it should take about a week to track it down and kill it. I should get to Jim's tomorrow. So I'm guessing everything should be wrapped up in less than two weeks. You and Dad should be set up in Nebraska by then and I'll meet you there. Alright?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded looking disheartened.

"At least you get to finish school before the move. You're lucky dad found that hunt or we would have been out of here weeks ago. That's good huh?" Dean nudged, trying to lighten the mood before he had to leave.

"I'm counting my blessings." Sam joked grinning at him.

"Don't forget to count me. I'm like a gift from God." Dean pointed at himself, shooting Sam a lopsided grin.

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Whoever told you that hasn't heard you singing in the shower."

Dean put a hand over his heart as if wounded. "Sammy I thought you loved my singing!"

"Yeah love when it's over." Sam teased.

Dean rustled his brothers hair as the smile he had been fighting broke out. "Go grab your backpack. I'll drive you to school on my way out of town." Sam beamed and Dean chuckled to himself. Sam would be fine. What could go wrong in two weeks?

-o-o-o-o-

Chapter One

Sam was asleep lying face down on his bed in the room he had been sharing with Dean before he left. The presence of another was his first indication that something was off, he could feel someone in the room with him. Sam groggily turned his head towards the door, only to be met by the heavy stench of alcohol burning his nose. His eyes shot open to land on the face of his father.

John's eyes seemed to shine in the moonlight flowing through the window. He was sitting in a chair, pulled up directly next to Sam sprawled on the bed. He had a beer in his hand which he had been raising to his lips when Sam opened his eyes. It hung suspended in the air as John stared vacantly at him.

Sam took a minute to assess what he was seeing and determine if he was dreaming. His father exhaled again. The breath washed across his face causing him to wince, assuring him he was awake. Sam never had dreams that smelled this repugnant.

Suddenly his dad extended his right hand smoothing it down the side of Sam's face, letting out a hushing murmur. Sam was not soothed. In fact he was bewildered by his father's behavior.

"Dad?" Sam began,

The hand that had been brushing over his hair swiftly clenched around the back of his neck, pressing down forcefully into the pillow. "Shhh Sammy, I'm thinking."

Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest and in his throat. Just as suddenly his father released him, once again stroking his hair lovingly and staring at him vacantly.

Under no circumstance was this normal. When he was sick, Dean took care of him. Injured- Dean. Nightmare- Dean. Just want to talk or complain- Dean. His father loved him, Sam knew that, but John was a serious man and not overly affectionate in general. He had hunts to find, monsters to kill, credit card applications to forge. All while still looking for whatever killed Mom. He was a busy man. John protected the family and Dean watched after Sam. It worked out for the most part, but Dean wasn't here now.

Sam turned onto his side slowly, shifting his head so he could see the room more clearly. It was dark, long before dawn. The moon was high in the sky, providing the only light in the room. His dad looked drunk. Not fall down, can't speak english drunk, but foggy introverted drunk. He had been out hunting tonight. Maybe it hadn't gone well, that could explain the strange behavior. Took out period, added comma.

Sam licked his lips. "Dad did something hap-"

His father's hand clamped roughly over his mouth with more force than his neck. His teeth scraped against his lips from the pressure. "I said quiet Sam. That's an order." Once again the hand was abruptly removed. John leaned back in his chair taking a drink of his beer without taking his eyes of Sam.

Sam waited. He waited for his dad to speak. To leave. To stop freaking staring at him, but none of those things happened. His dad was like a statue. His eyes fixed almost unblinkingly. He thought about going back to sleep but gave up on the idea. There was no way he could sleep with someone watching him like this. He toyed with the idea of pulling the blankets up over his head to block his dads view, but eventually he decided that he was way too old to hide under the covers especially from his dad.

He estimated he had woken up about half an hour ago. The clock was behind him and he decided against turning over to check. He would wait ten more minutes Sam decided, hoping his dad would finish thinking and go to bed. Counting the seconds gave him something to do in the mean time. He welcomed the distraction.

Eventually he had counted to six-hundred. The silence was oppressive as the numbers that had been marching through his head came to an end love the imagery!. His dad still hadn't moved except to take slow swigs of his beer. Sam resolved that it was time to stop lying around. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up, throwing his blankets down. Sitting up he swung his feet off the bed, so he was facing his father knee to knee. Sam reached out to light the lamp on the bedside table, hoping the glow would be less unsettling than the light if the moon.

"Dad you're freaking me out!" It came out quietly under his breath, as his fingers brushed the lamp cord. He was half speaking to himself. He never pulled the cord.

Sam was thrown onto his back by the force of a backhand to the right side of his face. He heard the crash of breaking glass and knew it was the beer as his father's newly emptied left hand clenched the collar of his shirt holding him in place.

He wasn't given time to recover from the first blow. As soon as he registered the burning in his right cheek he was struck again, this time from the left. His dad held him down slapping him, snapping his head back and forth from the alternating open palm and back of his hand. It hurt, a lot. It was different from the pain of skinning his knee or twisting an ankle. It burned, it burned right down to his heart combined sentences. He fought back tears of pain threatening to slip through his lashes. His father stopped slapping him and instead gripped his chin tight, forcing his face left than right, appraising the work he had done. Humiliation crept in; Sam felt he would choke on the tears that clogged his throat. Against his will, tears finally leaked out of the corners of his eyes and tracked wet lines down his flushed cheeks.

His father sighed at the sight, releasing his grip on Sam's chin and moving back to pick up the chair that had toppled backwards. He shoved the broken remnants of the beer aside with his boot pulling the chair as close as possible to the bed and sat back down, assuming the same innocuous positing he had started in, minus the beer. Sam had yet to move from his prone position, his feet still hanging off the bed and his head a good foot away from the pillow. He kept his eyes locked on his father.

"Sam your training really begins this summer, starting this weekend. This was a test. A very simple test, and you failed. All you had to do was be quiet."

His father's words washed over him and kept him just as immobile as the fear of making noise. _This was all a test_?. He tried to stay as still as possible. Which was not very still given the way his heart was pumping. His lungs burned as they struggled to pull in air while Sam fought them trying not to breathe. His father wanted him to be quiet and his breathing was coming out in gasps that seemed incredibly loud in the small room. He wished Dean was here. This wouldn't be happening if Dean was here.

"It was such a simple order. Silence can be pivotal in hunting. How can you be trusted to hunt with me and Dean? The orders I give protect you and your brother. Dean followed my orders to take you out of the house the night your Mother died. If he had questioned me you would both be dead. What don't you understand? The orders I give you could be the difference between life and death. Your life. My life. Dean's life. Are you willing to risk Dean's life with your constant questioning?" His father stopped and stared at him.

Sam still hadn't moved. He was trying very hard to be quiet, but now his dad seemed to want him to answer this question. He shook his head hoping that was sufficient and quiet. Apparently it was because his father smiled for the first time since Sam had woken up.

"Then you are going to have to try harder. You have to be better." His father said it as if this was a normal conversation about not reaching one's potential and trying their best.

Sam nodded emphatically, trying to silently assure his father that he would do better at whatever it was his father thought he was doing so wrong.

His dad stood up suddenly again and Sam bit his lip to keep himself from telling his dad to stay away. His dad didn't hit him again, instead Sam found himself grasped by the shoulders and guided into a normal sleeping position on his side with his head and feet at the appropriate ends. His dad pulled the blankets up and covered him, something Sam could remember his dad doing since he was six.

His dad went back to sitting in his chair, leaning forward and staring into his eyes again. "Go to sleep." It was said softly and Sam found he was relieved to snap his eyes closed at his father's order. With his eyes closed maybe he could sort this all out. He could tell himself none of it had happened. He could pretend Dean was here. Dean could explain it to him. His ears were still ringing from earlier.

Sam was startled out of his musing by the touch of his father's hand once again petting over his hair. It was so gentle that he found himself fight back tears- tears that threatened to suffocate him if he wouldn't release them. He didn't understand. Something had changed and he didn't know what it was. His father was still stroking his hair. Sam was so tired. Probably because he kept holding his breath. He couldn't think anymore, all his energy focused on controlling his breathing and staying still. He didn't feel like he was getting any air, but he was afraid to make any more noise. Maybe this is what it feels like to drown.

Sam felt himself falling asleep or maybe passing out. He couldn't bring himself to care either way. He told himself Dean was the one next to him and when he opened his eyes next he would see Dean's face. But when he opened his eyes next it was morning and he was alone.

-o-o-o-o-

Any reviews are greatly appreciated


	2. Chapter 2

I have to thank my Beta Warr2654, without her this story might never have been published.

-o-o-o-o-

Chapter Two – June 5th 1998 Knowles, Oklahoma

Sam felt sore all over. He could tell from the light coming through the window that it was late. He should already be at school. It didn't matter though. He probably didn't need to go. He was going to pass all his classes, finals or not. He was an exceptional student; teachers said it in every school he attended. His dad had been proud of that once, but over time Sam thought it became an annoyance. He stood out, and that was not something to be proud of in the Winchester household.

Sam might not get all A's this year but he didn't mind that right then. He almost decided to stay home but he didn't know if that would make his father happy or angry. He figured it was better to go to school than risk it. Trudging to the bathroom Sam listened for any sound that would indicate his father was up. He didn't hear anything as he slipped inside and locked the door behind him. He showered and brushed his teeth quickly. He wanted to stall but he knew it was time to look in the mirror.

It was still slightly fogged from the steam. Clearing a space in the condensation, Sam forced himself to examine his reflection. He was afraid of what he might see. It wasn't bad though. His cheeks looked flushed and a little puffy but not bruised, yet. He felt the most tenderness on his right cheek bone. His neck was stiff and sore. Turning his head Sam could see faint marks around his neck made by the collar of his t-shirt. He clenched the edge of the sink looking away from his reflection. He needed to get to school.

*"Sam are you alright? You're late for school." His father said through the door, snapping Sam out of his daze.

"Sam are you in there?" Sam's eyes shot doorknob as he heard his father's voice. Then he remembered he had locked it. He hesitated, not wanting to answer, but knowing he should.

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm sorry I overslept. I'm going in a minute." He had spoken in a voice that he hoped sounded calm.

His dad didn't say anything at first and Sam thought he was gone, then he spoke again through the door. "Alright I'll give you a ride when you're ready. I have to go pick up some supplies. I'll drop you off on the way."

Sam's heart clenched for a second. "You don't have to wait for me. I can just walk, it's ok."

"I'm going that way and you're already late. Are you sure you're ok in there?"

John was beginning to wonder if Sam was sick. He was very rarely late for school, and on those occasions it was usually his or Dean's fault.

"I'm ok. You're right, I'm sorry. I'll be right there."

-o-o-o-o-

John paused by the door for another minute before heading down to the living room.

He had been in the process of packing up everything they would be taking with them to the cabin when he heard the water running in the bathroom. He had amassed a large collection of weapons over the years. He went back to sorting out the guns and knives he had selected for Sam's training, putting them in a separate bag. He hoped Sam wouldn't drag his feet when training started. He knew Sam would rather do almost anything than hunt, but John needed to know that if something happened to him or Dean, Sam could protect himself.

He admitted to himself that he was asking a lot of a fifteen-year-old, but he knew what was out there waiting in the dark. John thought of all the people he had saved over the years, then he thought of the ones he hadn't saved. The people who had died because they hadn't known how to protect themselves, hadn't known what to protect themselves from. Mary. Sam was so much like her. It hurt sometimes to look at him, but most of the time John thanked God for the light in their lives. Thanked God for Dean who kept that light alive. He knew he put too much on Dean, depended on him to take care of Sam for most of his life. Dean stepped up though, without being asked twice and without complaint. Dean understood why they lived like they did. Why they couldn't stop hunting, couldn't have a normal life. People would die! They would keep dying until someone killed the monsters._If we didn't do it who would_?

He was pulled out of his contemplation by the awareness that Sam was standing in the doorway with his backpack.

"You ready?" John asked turning to face him.

Sam didn't meet John's eyes but nodded. John frowned looking Sam up and down. He looked off somehow, agitated.

"You sure you're not sick? It's the last day, you could stay home."

Sam glanced up, meeting Johns eyes for the first time since entering the room. John was surprised to see something like caution shining in them. Before he could analyze further Sam broke the gaze, locking his eyes on the floor.

"I'm sure. I have a final, I should go. Unless you want me not to go?"

John watched Sam shift his weight restlessly from one foot to the other.

"No you should go if you feel up to it. I'll finish packing up while you're gone."

Sam nodded in agreement, John continued packing the bag in front of him.

"Is all your stuff packed?"

John looked at Sam to see him nod again.

It was on the tip of John's tongue to ask if he was sick again. Sam had been acting strange all morning. To start with he was late to school. Now he wasn't saying more than a few words strung together at a time and he was suddenly very interested in the floorboards.

He almost asked, but a thought occurred to him: _Maybe Sam was sulking because he had to start training_. John hoped that wasn't it. Sam couldn't drag his feet on this. It was life or death stuff he needed to learn.

-o-o-o-o-

Sam was still standing in the doorway. He wished his dad would let him walk to school but he wasn't asking again. Right now he just wanted to get out of the house for a while. He hoped his dad wouldn't change his mind and make him stay home. They both knew he wasn't sick. A little heartsick maybe but that couldn't be cured with medicine anyway. His dad was behaving as if nothing had happened last night. If not for the stiffness in his neck he could almost believe he had imagined it.

"Let's head out then" his dad said, turning away to grab his old leather jacket. Dean had always loved that jacket. A few months ago Sam had seen Dean trying it on when his dad was in the shower. His brother hadn't known Sam was watching him; he would have been embarrassed. But Sam hadn't been surprised. Dean always wanted to be just like their dad.

Sam followed him outside to his truck. Dean had the Impala, Dad had given it to him on his eighteenth birthday. Climbing inside Sam continued to think about Dean. What would Dean say if he told him what happened? Would he believe him? Maybe but maybe not. Sam barely believed it himself. If Dean did believe him, it would probably break his heart. Dean thought their dad was a hero. Hell Dean thought Dad was a superhero. He had said so once when they were kids. The night Sam found out monsters were real.

They had been driving for a few minutes in silence. Sam watched the houses as they passed.

"You're quiet today Sam. Are you worried about starting your training?"

Sam turned looking at his dad from the corner of his eye. "No, I'm ready. I know it's important."

"Really?" His dad gave him a questioning stare.

"Really." Sam cleared his throat. "You were right, what you said. I need to learn these things. Lives depend on us right?"

He meant it. His dad had scared him last night but he had also made him think. He didn't want to be a burden that had to be protected. He wanted to be able to help Dean, watch out for him like he watched out for Sam. He may not want to hunt but that was what his family did. Refusing to participate didn't change anything. It just meant his dad and Dean had one less person watching their backs.

His dad looked stunned for a second before he smiled.

"Well I'm not sure what I said that inspired this turnaround but I hope it sticks."

Something dawned on Sam when he realized what his dad had said. Maybe he wasn't pretending not to remember; maybe he really didn't. He had been drinking. He had been out hunting. Sam considered if a concussion and alcohol combined could explain the sudden change in demeanor. It was possible.

He clasped onto the idea and looked over at his father again. He looked like he had every other morning. He looked a little tired, but not stern like he had the night before.

His dad seemed to feel his gaze, because he glanced over, crinkling the sides of his eyes with a small smile.

Sam felt a weight lifted, and smiled back before looking back out the window. They were pulling into the school parking lot. Sam took a deep breath as he stepped out of the car feeling much more optimistic about the summer.

"I'll pick you up, then we'll head out." Sam nodded at his dad, smiling.

"Sounds good." Sam watched his dad pull out of the parking lot before turning to head inside.

-o-o-o-o-

Reviews are very much appreciated


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three - Tuesday, June 9th 1998 Butte, Nebraska

-o-o-o-o-

After John picked Sam up from school they had driven through the night to reach the cabin by Saturday morning. Saturday afternoon had been spent setting up for the training that began Sunday.

His father had laid out how the days that followed would be spent; Sam needed to get out of bed early, before the sun was up. He was supposed to eat, check his weapons, and be outside ready to train by the time the sun peaked over the trees. They would train until the sun went down, with a short break for lunch. Training was hungry work.

Sam made it his goal each morning to be outside before his father. He wanted to show his dad that he was dedicated. That he was trying to be better. It seemed to be working.

Training was going great, at least that's what his dad had told Dean on the phone this afternoon. Sam had been putting all his energy into focusing on the tasks his father gave him. So far he had only worked on shooting. Rifles, handguns, shotguns, Sam was now proficient with all of then. He wouldn't be surprised if his dad brought out a bow and arrow soon. His dad said it was important to be able to take down an opponent without getting close. So Sam practiced shooting. He shot at bottles and targets his dad had set up and had gotten used to the ringing in his ears. In the last three days he lost count of how many rounds he went through. His shoulder felt permanently bruised from the shotgun recoil.

He lifted the rifle again letting off four quick rounds. Sam hit the target in the bullseye each time.

He had to admit that he was getting better. _Dean would be impressed_.

His dad certainly was. He had even told him so a couple times yesterday. That was one of the reasons Sam was pushing himself so hard. He finally felt he was on the same page with his family after years of bumping heads. Sam would train all summer maybe even go on some hunts if his dad thought he was doing well enough. He wanted to go, wanted to be an asset.

"You're gonna lose that arm if you keep this up." His dad's voice called from behind him.

Sam looked over his shoulder and smiled at him.

"Worried I'm gonna get better than you?"

"You caught me." John chuckled as he came to a stop a few feet behind Sam. His father watched him shoot for a few minutes. The sound of shattering glass filled the air as he hit several bottles in quick succession.

Sam adjusted the rifle, shrugging his shoulder to stretch out some of the stiffness that was already setting in.

His dad frowned, "You're going to need to ice that shoulder tonight. You'll be sore in the morning. We won't be shooting tomorrow anyway though, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"We're not?" Sam asked, stopping himself from stretching again.

"Nope. We're going to start working on hand-to-hand combat. You might not always have a weapon when you need it, so you're going to need to be able to defend yourself."

John turned to look at the sun disappearing behind the trees in the distance. Sam followed his gaze. It would be dark soon.

Sam ejected the cartridge still loaded in the rifle and switched on the safety. Setting it down, he moved to begin picking up the shells that littered the ground around him.

His dad stood watching him for a minute.

"Alright Sam, you finish cleaning up out here, then go take a shower. When you're done, dinner should be ready. After that you need to clean your guns before you go to bed."

"Sounds good, Dad."

He expected his father to head back inside the house to make dinner but his dad didn't move.

Sam glanced at his dad. It made him nervous now when his dad stared at him for too long without saying anything. Even when his dad wasn't there, Sam felt like eyes were following him. It was during those times that Sam couldn't keep his mind off the other night. He had decided to let it go. His dad hadn't done anything out of the ordinary since then. _That wasn't really true,_ Sam admitted to himself. His dad seemed a lot happier lately than he usually was. Sam figured his dad was relieved he had finally thrown himself in to training. It was his father's dream come true.

_All it had taken was a slight beating_.

Sam shook himself mentally. He didn't want to think about it. He was training, his dad was happy. Hell, Dean was ecstatic to hear Sam was getting along with his dad. It would be better for everyone if he could just let it go.

Sam tried to clean up faster while doing his best to ignore his father's presence.

"I'm proud of you, Sam." His dad said unexpectedly, crossing his arms as he spoke.

Sam almost dropped the bag of shells he was holding. "What?" Nothing his father said could have taken him more off guard.

His dad smiled at his reaction. "What 'what'? You've really matured. I didn't think I would ever see this day. You out here training without complaining, really trying. It's good to see."

He couldn't believe his dad was actually saying this to him.

"Thanks, Dad." Sam looked down, not sure what else to say.

His dad watched him pick up shells for another minute before turning away and walking back up to the cabin.

Sam felt gratified. He had always wanted his dad to be proud of him. No matter what he had achieved in the past, it had never been good enough. The soccer trophy he won when he was thirteen was for a sport he would never play again. The straight A's he managed to get in every school were for a college his dad would never let him go to.

None of it mattered. He had never felt his father was proud of him.

His dad was always proud of Dean. It showed when he spoke to him. John never asked if Dean could do something. He just told him to do it and assumed he could. John had confidence in Dean. _But why wouldn't he?_ Dean always excelled in fields his father found important. He was a natural hunter. He actually enjoyed it. Sam never had.

Sometimes, if he was honest with himself, Sam had to admit he was jealous. He didn't blame Dean for being good at basically everything. It just wasn't that easy for him and he wished it was. It hadn't helped that Sam had always been small for his age. No matter how much food Dean pushed on him over the years, he didn't gain weight. It wasn't until he turned fourteen or so that he shot up six inches and put on about fifty pounds. Now it actually seemed possible that he could be a good hunter someday. It was all his dad ever wanted him to be. Sam told himself that he wanted it too.

Sometimes he even believed it.

-o-o-o-o-

Thank you so much for the reviews! I really appreciate it and I try to respond to all of them.

Thanks to my Beta Warr2654 Next chapter up soon!


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks as always to my beta Warr2654

-o-o-o-o-

Chapter Four- Wednesday, June 10th 1998 Butte, Nebraska

Sam was standing in a dirt circle about fifty feet from the front of the cabin. His father had cleared the space when they had first arrived and now Sam knew why. It was early, a little before nine and the air was already getting warm. His dad had picked this spot because of the tall evergreens that grew to the east and west. They would shade the circle for most of the day.

Sam was excited to practice his sparring with his dad. Dean had been teaching him some moves over the last year. They had always wrestled, but before his growth spurt Sam hadn't been strong enough to do much damage. Now that he was putting on muscle he thought he might be able to.

By the end of the first day, Sam was no longer feeling so optimistic.

He was doing horribly. He knew how to throw punches and roundhouse kicks. He could do the takedown maneuvers his father showed him perfectly. The problem came when applying them in actual sparring. When the time came none of the moves worked the way they were supposed to. Either his dad blocked the attack entirely or Sam ended up worse off from the move. Sam spent most of the afternoon just trying to stay off the ground.

By end of the second day Sam decided any pride his dad had in his shooting was overshadowed by disappointment in his fighting skills. He went to bed that night promising himself he would do better.

He had to.

-o-o-o-o-

Friday June 12th

After two days of sparring John had Sam practicing shooting again, if only to assure himself Sam still had one skill. He had overestimated Sam's fighting abilities and he was discouraged. He didn't blame Sam for his lack of skill, John knew it was his job to make sure his sons were prepared for what was out there combined sentences with comma. He tried to look at the bright side. Sam certainly had impressed him in the last week. He was really trying. Even if he wasn't a natural fighter, he kept trying. John wasn't sure what had happened but he was relieved. Sam was amazing with a gun. How had he never noticed_. _

_Probably because Dean had taught Sam behind his back._

John smiled at the thought. He was always giving Dean a hard time about babying Sammy, but he knew Dean wasn't shortsighted. Dean wanted Sam to be prepared just as much as he did.

John walked outside bringing a couple bottles of water with him. He made his way over to where Sam was shooting at targets down the hill. "How's the shoulder?" He asked Sam when he stopped to reload.

Sam's face flushed as he looked down. "It's good." Sam said too quickly.

It was hurting him. John could see it in the way Sam was standing. He was favoring his right arm.

"You've done enough training for the day. Why don't you head inside and ice that. I'll clean up the shells out here." He took the shotgun out of Sam's hand as he spoke, leaving no room for argument.

Sam nodded. He stood there for a moment as if unsure, before turning and walking back up to the cabin. After cleaning up John followed him.

He walked in to find Sam was sitting on the floor in the living room cleaning his guns.

"I thought I told you to ice that shoulder!" John said sharply.

Sam's head jerked up. He wore an expression like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I was just about to."

"Right. Well how about you do that now. It won't do you any good to let injuries go untreated. Even small ones. That's just as important as keeping the gear in order."

Sam nodded. "You're right."

"I always am." John grinned reaching out to rustle Sam's hair. He stopped when Sam flinched slightly.

He frowned pulling his hand back. "You alright Sam?"

Sam flushed, speaking in a rush. "It's just the sparring Dad. It makes me jumpy."

John accepted the explanation. "Alright. Go on and ice your shoulder and take a shower. Then we'll eat. Dean is supposed to call tonight, sometime around then."

Sam smiled at the mention of Dean. He hopped up and hurried to get everything done so he would be ready for the call.

-o-o-o-o-

The phone rang while Sam was cleaning up after dinner. He rushed the drying job on the dishes, putting them into the cabinet damp. His dad always talked to Dean first when he called in case there was an emergency.

Apparently there was no emergency because when Sam walked through the doorway to living room his Dad was talking about his training.

"He's doing alright. He's got the shooting down, but fighting not so much." His dad said with his voice low, not realizing Sam was in the room. "I know. He does fine in practice but when he has to apply it he just shuts down." His dad paused listening to something Dean was saying. Sam feeling dejected, decided now was a good time to let his presence be known.

"How's he doing Dad?" Sam asked lightly, walking into the middle of the room.

His dad turned smiling inconspicuously. "He's good. He wants to talk to you."

His dad held the phone out. Sam grabbed it still happy to get to talk to Dean.

-o-o-o-o-

"Hey Dean. How's the hunt? How's Pastor Jim? When do you think you'll get here?" Sam spoke in a rush.

Dean laughed at hearing Sam's excitement. He missed his cheery attitude whenever they were apart. He was always happy to see Pastor Jim but he was just as excited as Sam to be heading back soon.

"Hey Sammy! Catch your breath!" he chuckled.

"I'm doing great. Jim and I tracked down the son of a bitch. It was vengeful spirit, really powerful one. When it was alive it was a guy named Marcus Wright. Lost his whole family in a flood when a faulty dam failed. He killed himself not long after. He was too angry to pass on. He blamed the contractors for the malfunction. Started killing their families and then making the men commit suicide. We dug up the body, salted and burned his bones."

"That's awesome Dean. It was a vengeful spirit? Not a poltergeist?"

"Yep, just a really pissed off ghost." Dean had been relieved about that. Poltergeists were nasty. Spirits were a lot easier to handle.

"That's great Dean. So when will you be here? Are you heading out tonight?"

Sam was ecstatic. Dean could hear it in his voice. If the hunt was done Sam thought Dean would be coming back immediately. "Whoa whoa, Sammy. Hold your horses." Dean cut in before Sam got his hopes up. "I've gotta drive back to Jim's first and that's over an hour from here. It'll be dark by then. I'm gonna stay the night there. Jim asked me to help with some repairs to the church before I leave, so I might stick around for a couple days. I might head out Sunday, or I might wait until Monday. I'll be there Tuesday night at the latest. Alright?"

"Yeah that's great, that sounds great." Sam's voice was softer than before. He knew Sam was disappointed but was trying not to let Dean know it.

"Hey man, don't be bummed. I'll be back before you know it. Plus Dad says you're doing really well in training. Says you're a natural." Dean remarked trying to cheer Sam up.

"Thanks Dean. Well I better let you go. I have to take a shower before I go to bed and its already late." Dean was a little surprised but figured Sam was just disappointed he wouldn't be home sooner. "Alright, Sam. Take care of yourself. Listen to Dad. What he's teaching you is important. I'll see you soon. Ok?"

"Yeah I will. Bye Dean." Sam hung up.

Dean signaled to Jim that he was ready to start the drive back to Blue Earth. Jim started his truck and pulled onto the highway. Dean followed him, turning AC/DC on as he pulled out. He drove down the dark road, his thoughts on getting the repairs done and heading back to meet up with his family.

He told himself he would get there by Monday.

-o-o-o-o-

I hope you enjoyed the chapter I will have an update for you soon. Reviews are always very much appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

-o-o-o-o-

Chapter 5 - Saturday, June 13th 1998 Butte, Nebraska

"Alright Sam" his dad began, facing him across the circle. "Lets try something else. I want you to come forward and try to punch me."

"That's it?" Sam asked. Usually his dad wanted him to try combinations or a maneuver.

"That's it. Just try to punch me."

Sam stepped forward shifting his weight onto his left foot. He feigned a left hook before throwing a right at his dads left side. His father didn't try to block the hit. Instead he took the punch, grabbing Sam's elbow while turning quickly. He spun, pulling Sam off balance. He pitched forward, unable to keep his feet under him.

"You need to have a strategy Sam. I'm stronger than you. The supernatural things we face are definitely stronger than you. Think Sam. You can't overpower a stronger opponent. You need to use his size against him. Find a way to make it a weakness. Let's try that again."

It was late in the afternoon and Sam was on his back in the dirt. The last kick he had thrown had backfired. His dad had grabbed his leg in the air and yanking him forward before he could recover.

"You're gonna have to do better than that." His dad stood over him, with a look that Sam recognized as disappointment. He wasn't getting better as quickly as he had hoped; certainly not as quickly as his father had expected. Sam had always had a feeling Dean had been going easy on him when the sparred. Now he knew for sure. After trying about half of the maneuvers that would have gotten Dean on the ground, Sam had yet to get a grunt out of his father, let alone the upper hand.

His dad backed up, getting in position to go again

Sam pushed himself back onto his feet. Brushing the dirt of the back of his pants. _You can do this. Just focus._ He told himself, not believing it.

"Ready?"

His dad expected better. Sam knew it. He nodded, prepared to keep going all night if his father wanted him too.

His dad lunged at him with a right hand. Sam dodged it throwing a kick that swept his father off his feet. For half a second Sam smiled, but as his dad fell he grabbed his arms He felt a boot in his stomach as he was launched head first over his father. He landed hard on his back several feet past where his father had fallen. He gasped as the air was knocked out of his lungs by the impact.

"Dammit Sam, you can't just attack you have to defend at the same time! You're leaving yourself open." His dad snapped in frustration.

"I know." Sam retorted angrily, forcing himself to stand again. His back revolting against the movement. His whole body was sore from continuously hitting the ground. He was beginning to hate the dirt circle they trained in. The soil couldn't be harder; hitting it was like hitting a brick wall.

"I'm doing the best I can!"

"Well you need to do better because your best isn't good enough!" His dad barked at him. Sam looked down. _Was that really what his dad thought?_

"I know you're trying." His dad sighed turning away, staring into the distance. "I know you are, but." His dad stopped and Sam looked up to see him grimacing. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I worry about you Sam. You're not like your brother. You've never wanted to hunt, or train, or do any of the things I need you to know how to do. I won't always be here. Dean won't always be here. You need to be ready. Now that you're finally trying, it's like I'm trying to get all the training in I can before you change your mind again."

Sam felt guilty. It wasn't good enough to just try. His dad shouldn't have to worry about him. Sam had never fully appreciated how much his dad worried about him. He wanted his dad to trust him, but first he had to prove he deserved to be trusted. "I'll do better Dad. I just need to practice more that's all. I'm not going to give up."

His dad nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. "I know you won't. You're right Sam, the heat is getting to me. I'm sure you'll get it eventually. Lets just call the sparing for the day. Go do your run and then wash up. Dean is supposed to call after dinner so don't take too long" His dad brushed himself off as he turned and walked back to the cabin.

-o-o-o-o-

Sam tried not to feel relieved but he was. His shoulder had been screaming at him for the last hour. He should have iced it longer last night but he'd been more worried about making sure all his guns were in order. Now he was literally suffering the consequences. Running wouldn't be much fun but the shower after would be heaven. With that in mind, Sam set off jogging down the trail that snaked a four mile track through the forest. The trail conveniently came full circle to end by the back porch of the cabin.

As Sam ran he thought of Dean. He was going to be in for an earful from Sam when he got back. He had let Sam think he could fight. It hadn't done him any favors this week and it certainly wouldn't save him on a hunt. Sam realized now that he was pathetic when it came to hand to hand combat. His dad clearly expected more from him. He expected more from himself.

Sam was deep in thought as he past the three mile marker, entering a small clearing on the path.

He almost ran straight into his dad standing in the middle of the trail. Narrowly avoiding a full collision Sam came to a stop a foot in front of his father.

Breathing heavily Sam put his hands on his knees. "I almost didn't see you."

"No you wouldn't would you. You never pay attention to your surroundings. You think too much Sam. That's why you're weak." His dad's voice was dripping with disapproval.

Sam's heart dropped. Something was wrong. He looked at his dad. His fists were clenched and his eyes were like steel. Sam began backing away.

"Dad-" He was cut off when his dad grabbed him roughly. He seized a handful of Sam's hair in one hand while clamping the other over his mouth.

"No Sam. I don't give a damn what you have to say. For days I've been coddling you. Hoping that with enough encouragement you would really commit to training like you promised. But today I could see I was wrong. You don't commit. You don't give it your all. But then again, how can I expect you to fight like your life depends on it if you've never had too?"

This was wrong. This wasn't supposed to be happening. He had done everything his dad had asked him. It couldn't be happening again. His dad let go of his hair, shoving him back. Sam was unprepared for the fist that was jammed into his stomach. He tried to move away but his dad followed him, swinging. He tried and failed to dodge a hit to his kidney. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees. "Dad stop. Please." A kick to his back sent him face down in the dirt. Gravel bit into his forearm as it shot out to break his fall.

"Fight me Sam." His dad snarled, jerking him back onto his feet by his hair.

Sam threw a weak punch at his fathers jaw. His dad laughed at the attempt grabbing the arm to twist it behind Sam's back. His injured shoulder exploded with agony. He cried out, sure it would pop out of the socket. His dad released him. The lack of support sent him back to the ground. Before Sam could push himself up again a kick to his side flipped him over to leave him sprawled on his back. Why was this happening? Why wasn't Dean here?

Sam tried to scramble away. He had barely moved a foot when his dad crouched over him again. He grabbed Sam's hair yanking him back. He pressed his knee into Sam's chest to hold him down. Dean was always telling Sam that his hair was too long and he should cut it. Right now Sam wished he had listened.

"Please Dad. Please stop. I'll do better." His dad laughed using his free hand to cover the lower half of Sam's face.

Clenching tightly his father whispered "Shhh, Sammy." Sam choked out a sob behind his dad's hand. His dad released his face only to begin slapping him again and again. It was just like the night a week before. He struggled to escape, but his father's weight on his chest kept him trapped.

Finally, when Sam gave up trying to get away, gave up on begging his dad to stop, and just laid there taking the hits, his father stopped. He leaned forward to glare into Sam's eyes.

"Is that all you can do? Run away and beg? Dean would be ashamed if he could see you now."

Sam felt something snap deep inside him. He reared up suddenly, clawing and punching at his father frantically. He threw himself upward. His dad hadn't expected the attack and was unprepared. He fell back as Sam launched himself onto his father in a frenzy. He got several blows in before his father recovered from his surprise. Once he regained his concentration it took him only seconds to grab both Sam's wrists while delivering a brutal knee to his stomach. His dad let him fall to the ground and stepped back.

"This is what I'm looking for Sam. That was excellent. I knew it was in there. I just had to make you let it out. Don't hold back. Not with me. Not with Dean. When you can do that without me prompting you, I'll know you're ready. Don't be too hard on yourself. You did better than I could have hoped."

Sam lay in the dirt listening to his father praise adrenaline that had fueled him moments ago subsided; pain replaced it. His shoulder was screaming at him. His whole body was screaming at him. The blood rushing in his ears seemed to be getting louder and louder. He felt something like tiny needles digging into his back. He wanted to move but he couldn't seem to make himself. He wasn't sure how much time past but suddenly Sam realized his father wasn't speaking anymore. In fact there was no noise of any kind. No birds were singing. No crickets chirping. It was too quiet.

Sam lifted his head and looked around him. His father was no where in sight. The sun had disappeared behind the trees and it was getting cold. Sam forced himself to get up. If he didn't get back to the cabin soon he would miss Deans phone call. _Dean._ Sam's wanted him to be here so badly. Dean would help him. He could tell Sam what to do so his dad wouldn't be so mad at him anymore. Dean could help him be better. First Sam had to get back to the cabin. Commanding his legs to move he began trudging down the last mile of the path.

-o-o-o-o-

Thank you for reading. Any reviews are greatly appreciated. This is my first story and I'd love to hear what you think.

As always thank you to my Beta Warr2654


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Saturday, June 13th 1998 Butte, Nebraska

-o-o-o-o-

John drained the spaghetti and put the pot in the sink. Turning to the stove he began taking meatballs out of the skillet, setting them on a paper towel to cool down. He was expecting a call from Dean soon. Jim was one of the only people on the planet he trusted to hunt with Dean but that didn't mean he didn't worry. He was looking forward to having both his sons under the same roof again.

John had noticed the subtle changes in Sam's behavior over the past week. Sam was suddenly completely willing to train. He had asked John if he might get to go on some hunts before the end of summer. Sam's new interest in hunting wasn't the only difference. Sam's entire attitude had changed. He didn't talk back or argue anymore, he just did whatever John told him to without question. In the past, Sam had an opinion on almost everything. Generally that opinion was the opposite of John's. They argued all the time. Dean always acted as a sort of buffer between the two of them. John wondered if Dean's absence was part of the reason Sam had been so compliant lately. Maybe without his big brother to lean on Sam had decided to try standing on his own two feet.

Thinking about Sam John regretted yelling at him when they were sparring earlier. He hadn't meant what he'd said about Sam's best not being good enough. He was just frustrated. Sam had really been trying, now more than ever. John knew that should be enough for him, but it wasn't. He wanted Sam to do better because John could see he had it in him.

_Maybe I'm was pushing Sam too hard._

The kid had never shown more willingness to train and hunt than he had in the last week. It was like a fire had been lit in Sam. Since they had gotten to the cabin Sam hadn't complained once. He didn't grumble when he had to be up before the sun. He didn't whine that it was too hot or he was hungry. He didn't sulk because he wasn't spending his summer like other kids his age. He just did whatever John told him to do. It was strange but John didn't want to question it. He told himself that Sam was just growing up.

Dean had always been mature for his age. He'd never given John any trouble. When John gave Dean an order he knew it would be followed. Sam had never been as easy to manage. Sam asked too many questions. He always needed to understand why things were the way they were. John used to wish Sam was more like Dean. Now it seemed that wish might be coming true and part of him questioned if that was really a good thing.

John glanced out the window as he set the table. It was getting dark. Sam should have been back from his run by now.

-o-o-o-o-

Sam finally reached the steps of the back porch. His legs felt like lead as he forced them to slowly carry him up the stairs. He grabbed the handle of the screen but didn't open the door. Leaning against the metal frame Sam almost broke down. He was afraid to go inside. Shame flooded him. _Dean wouldn't hide out here like this! _Maybe his dad was right; maybe he was weak. Pushing down the lump in his throat, Sam turned the handle and stepped inside.

The door off the back porch opened into the living room. With as much stealth as he possessed, Sam moved slowly across the room. He paused in the doorway to the hall; Sam could hear his father moving around in the kitchen. Cautiously leaning into the hallway Sam could see his dad making dinner. His stomach turned at the thought of food. Sam waited for a chance to make it to the bathroom without being noticed. He had to take a shower before he ate. That was the rule. When his dad stopped cooking and began setting the table Sam knew he had to make his move. On his tip toes he crept past the doorway to the kitchen. He was still holding his breath when he reached the bathroom. Sam pushed the door open. The old rusted hinges gave off a loud creak and his heart dropped.

"Sam?" He heard his father call from the kitchen.

Sam knew he should answer but he couldn't make his mouth work. He stood rooted in front of the bathroom. Gripping the doorframe, Sam tried to contain his panic. He felt more than heard his father come out of the kitchen and into the hall.

"Hey Sam, you took a long time on your run tonight."

Sam glanced at his dad. It was dark in the hallway, the only light was coming from the kitchen. His fists weren't clenched Sam noted, that was a good sign. His dad was watching him though and that made Sam nervous. After another minute of silence his dad sighed. "Listen Sam I'm sorry about earlier. You know I don't mean to be so hard on you. I know you're trying ok?"

Sam wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Whatever he had expected when he got back to the cabin, this wasn't it. His dad was sorry for being so hard on him? It was too much to process. His dad was still waiting for a response, but Sam didn't know what to say. The silence became oppressive. "I just want to take a shower." It took a minute for Sam to realize he had spoken out loud.

His dad sighed again. "Alright. Dinner's almost ready, so don't take too long." With that his dad went back to the kitchen, leaving Sam alone once again.

Sam stepped into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He knew if his dad wanted to get in he would, but it made Sam feel a little better to have it locked anyway. He turned the shower on before beginning the difficult task of undressing. Sitting on the lid of the toilet Sam pulled off his shoes and socks. His pants followed with some difficulty. As he moved to set them aside he noticed one of the knees was torn. Sam held the jeans in his hands staring at the hole. _They weren't supposed to be ripped!_ Dean had bought these jeans for him after his growth spurt; he had outgrown all the pants he had. They had been a surprise, Dean had left them on Sam's bed while he was at school. There was a note with them that said 'For my sasquatch of a little brother.' Anguish filled him. The pants were ruined. Sam felt an ache rising in his chest. He balled up the jeans and threw them in the corner.

He had to get his shirt off. He tried pulling it over his head, but his sore shoulder wouldn't cooperate. Finally Sam bent over and let gravity help. The shirt slid off and Sam could finally get in the shower.

It wasn't the pleasant feeling he had hoped for. The hot water stung the nicks and cuts that covered his body. He began washing his hair gently. His scalp felt raw, and burned when the shampoo touched it. Sam could see bruises forming on his ribs. He tried not to look at them as he washed gravel and dirt from his arms. More bruises appeared from under the dirt, bruises his father had given him, it was too much. Sam couldn't hold it in anymore. Sinking to his knees Sam began to sob, letting out all the heartache he had been pushing down. _He had tried so hard_.

When the water began to cool down Sam told himself he had to get out of the shower. His dad had told him not to take too long and he had been in the bathroom for at least twenty minutes. He didn't want to make his dad mad again.

He dried himself as quickly as he could manage; wincing as the rough towel scratched his aching skin. His entire body throbbed. Sam could only imagine how sore he would be tomorrow. He gave up on drying his hair when a whimper he couldn't suppress escaped. Sam now realized he hadn't brought a change of clothes into the bathroom. He looked at the crumpled jeans and shirt on the floor and decided he couldn't put them back on. After wrapping a towel around his waist, Sam opened the door just enough to make sure his father wasn't nearby. Seeing that the coast was clear, Sam hurried across the hall to his room. He threw on a pair of sweats and a long sleeved shirt. He didn't want to see the reminders of his weakness.

Taking a deep breath, Sam pushed down the pressure in his chest that was becoming constant. He wouldn't stall any longer. Sam walked down the hall into the kitchen.

His father was sitting at the table with his journal in front of him. He didn't look up as Sam moved around the room making himself a plate of spaghetti. Although he lacked any desire to eat, he settled into the chair across from his father and began picking at his food. Along with multiple sips of water, Sam forced himself to eat most of what was on his plate. The pasta was already settling heavy in his stomach. He felt as though his dad was watching him, even though he never looked up from the journal. Sam struggled between the conflicting emotions of resentment and fear threatening to overwhelm him. He stared at his father sitting silently, turning the pages of his book. It was like Sam wasn't in the room. He felt the urge to scream at the top of his lungs in that moment. But he didn't, because it wouldn't matter. Instead he got up from the table and cleaned his plate. He left his father in the kitchen and went to the living room.

He pulled out the guns from the duffle bag and began cleaning them. They hadn't been used since the last time he cleaned them so it wasn't necessary, but it gave him something to keep his mind occupied. He had moved on to sharpening the knives when the phone rang. His heart dropped in his chest. Sam had to stop himself from running to the phone. His dad would answer. Then when he was done talking to Dean, he would give Sam the phone. The phone rang two more times before his father picked it up. Sam could hear his dad talking in the kitchen but couldn't make out what he was saying. He listened to the muffled voice coming through the wall, wondering what his dad was telling Dean about his training.

-o-o-o-o-

Thank you so much to all my readers. I am aware this update took a little while and I apologize. I will endeavor to update more swiftly in the future.

Reviews are always very much appreciated

As always my thanks to my beta reader Warr2678.


	7. Chapter 7

Special Thanks to my beta Warr2654. Also Thanks to all my readers for sticking with my story. I get a little ocd and take a while sometime when I'm writing because I want it to be perfect for you guys. I hope you like it.

Chapter 7 Saturday June 13th Blue Earth, Minnesota

-o-o-o-o-

Dean sat on the front porch drinking a beer while Pastor Jim heated up some chili. He missed being with Dad and Sam, but he loved visiting Jim. It was always so much calmer. He could relax and have some time to himself. He thought about extending his trip by a day or so, but he knew Sam would be missing him. It was about time to call dad and check on how Sammy was doing. He hadn't seemed himself the last few times they'd talked. _Dads probably been running him ragged training._Dean thought to himself as he took another swig of his beer and fished his phone out of his pocket. The phone rang three times before Dad picked up.

"Hey Dean. Everything alright?" Dad always waited to talk about anything else until after he made sure Dean was safe. Today was no exception.

"Hey Dad, everything is good here. We patched some holes in the roof and painted the church front so I'm about done here. I'll be heading home tomorrow."

Dean thought Dad would ask some questions about the work, or tell him Jim was probably ready for him to leave. Instead he asked seriously, "When do you think you'll make it here to the cabin?"

"I think I'll be there late Sunday or early in the morning on Monday."

"Dean hurry on your way back. Things aren't going the way I'd like, and I could use your help." Dad never asked for help with anything. On top of that, Dad had been the one who wanted some alone time to train Sam in the first place.

A small weight began to gather in Dean's stomach. "Why? What's happening over there? How's Sam?"

Dad did not respond immediately. After several moments of silence he said quietly, "Sam's fine."

Dean waited for him to say more but Dad did not seem to intend to say anything else. "What's going on Dad?"

John sighed. "I don't know, it's been on and off with him for the last few days. We've been training hard Dean, really hard. But in hand to hand combat he just doesn't seem to be getting any better; no matter how long we spend on it. I know if he just tried harder he could do better."

Dean could hear the frustration in his dad's voice, but he took a deep breathe in relief and smiled to himself. Sam was fine, Dad was just irritated he couldn't make him into a perfect hunter in a matter of weeks. He expected his kids to be soldiers in a war against monsters and in his eyes not being able to kick some ass was definitely a problem.

Dean knew Sam would get there eventually. He was only fifteen. Other kids his age wouldn't be spending their hot summer days shooting targets or sparring, they would be having a relaxing vacation. All things considered Dean thought Sam was doing great. He wished Dad would give him more credit for all the effort he's been putting in- but he knew he wouldn't. Dad wasn't the kind of father who gave positive encouragement. It was never a problem for Dean but sometimes he worried about how it affected Sam.

"Don't worry Dad he'll pick it up. You just need to give him some more time. It's barely been a couple weeks. You told me yourself that Sam's trying harder than ever."

"I know that. It's just," Dad said quietly, "today was a bad one Dean. I really went off on him. He couldn't do anything right. He screwed up every single combination. He couldn't have done any worse! In the end I gave up and just sent him on his run. I think he's sulking now, he's barely said two words since getting back."

Dean grimaced. This was exactly why he never left them home for too long. He could stop these stupid arguments with a quick look and a couple words to Sam. His brother sure could sulk like a girl. Dean also hated when Dad and Sam fought because it always put him in the middle as peacekeeper. The training had started out so damn well that he had gotten his hopes up that finally they would get along! Sam and Dad had been getting along for the first week or so and he had really hoped it might last through the summer. For once Dean had hoped his family could not argue all day and he wouldn't be put in the middle, but that dream was fading fast. Dad was complaining about Sam, Sam was complaining about training, and Dean just wanted it all to stop. "Let me talk to him, Dad. I'll make sure he doesn't give you too much trouble." Dean tried to make it sound light but both he and his dad knew it wasn't.

"I'll bring him the phone." John sighed.

Dad was getting more focused on the hunt everyday. He was becoming less of a father and more of a general. Dean couldn't stop it because he believed in what Dad was doing and that meant supporting his decisions even when it came to Sam. Easier said than done.

"Here he is." John said before handing the phone off to Sam.

-o-o-o-o-

Dean was going to get Sam in a good mood and then breach the subject of Dad. He'd make him stop pouting and everything would be ok. Dean smiled to himself and said "Hey Sammy, missing me much?"

He expected some witty retort but instead he heard Sam take a deep breath and say, "I really miss you Dean."

Dean was surprised by the sound of Sam's voice. He sounded different, wrong. Dean tried to shake it off. "Well it looks like I should be heading home tomorrow, so you won't have to miss me much longer."

"Good. That's really good to hear. You finished all the work Jim needed help with?" Sam asked.

"Yeah and it wasn't even that hard of work. Honestly I think Jim might just be wanting the company. Who could blame him though. I'm pretty awesome." Dean put as much charm into his voice as he could; hoping Sammy would cheer up.

"I don't know, the word 'awesome' might wear on him after a while." Sam teased back in a voice more like his own.

"Come on man. I do not say awesome that much!" Dean exclaimed.

"Sure you don't." Sam said sarcastically.

Ok Dean admitted to himself, maybe he said 'awesome' a little more than some people."Anyway, how's everything going up there? Are you eating enough with all the training?" Dean asked, trying to subtly steer the conversation.

"Yeah. Just had some spaghetti. I wasn't that hungry tonight though."

Dean was always concerned when Sam wasn't feeling well. Sam was his responsibility after all. "It's probably the heat. Drink more water, you'll be alright." Dean could almost hear Sam roll his eyes.

"Thanks Dean. I'll do that."

Dean smiled. Sam sounded just fine. Now was the time to bring up training. "Hey man, when I get back maybe we can do some sparring like old times and give Dad a break. How's that sound?"

Since Sam and Dad were having so much trouble, it sounded like they both need a break from one another. Plus, Sam loved to spar with him. "Thanks Dean but I don't really want to. Sorry." Sam said quietly

Dean was shocked, Sam had never turned down sparring with him before. Not once. "Dude come on, it'll be fun; like old times," Dean tried to joke.

"I don't have time to mess around sparring with you Dean. We both know you let me win and that won't help me now." Sam didn't even raise his voice, but Dean felt the anger though the phone.

"Whoa Sam, what's going on with you? Is this about you not being able to take Dad down? Listen Sammy, don't let Dad get to you. You knew you would have to train eventually. It's time to grow up. You need to listen to Dad and stop acting like a little kid. You don't know everything so stop thinking that you do. Do what Dad says for once! He's trying to help you. You could show some appreciation and stop making things so hard for him. Sure he's better at all this stuff, he's been doing it for years and he was a Marine. You can't expect him to be easy to take on. You just have to keep trying. He can be hard on you sometimes but he's just trying to prepare you. Try not to get too mad at him. Remember it's hard for him too."

"I know Dean but, it's just different than I thought it would be; harder. Dad's been different too. Sometimes I feel like he hates me. He thinks I'm weak." Sam sounded defeated.

Dean immediately felt even worse than he already did. It felt like he was betraying Sam by siding with Dad. He wanted to take it all back, but he couldn't. Dad needed Sam to take training seriously. It was for his own good. The silence stretched on for a minute and Dean's will faltered a little. _Maybe I've been too harsh_.

"Listen Sammy. Dad told me about what happened today, the sparring, and trouble you've been having, but it's no big deal. You're having a little trouble, so what? You can't get better if you give up. Dad said your technique is perfect. You're only having trouble with the follow through on your moves. Dad figures if you just stop holding back you'll be able to do it. I know you can if you just keep trying."

"He really told you about today?" Sam asked in a strange quiet voice.

"Yeah but don't worry about it man, see I figured when I get back I could train you too, seeing as I'm so good at everything, and you'll be a pro in no time." Dean smiled to himself and waited to hear Sam laugh or mock him like he usually did. Instead he heard Sam's breath shuddered. "I don't want to train with you Dean! Please don't make me. I don't want to fight you like that. I'll train with Dad. I'll do whatever he says I promise, but- but not you ok? Ok? " Sam pleaded. He sounded so desperate.

Dean's heart dropped. "Sammy? What's going on?" Dean could hear Sam breathing oddly, but he didn't say anything. "Sammy answer me! What's wrong?" Sam didn't respond and Dean was on his feet walking towards the Impala. He was about to start the engine when Sam finally spoke.

"I'm sorry Dean. You're right, I've just been tired you know? I think I need to get some more sleep. Don't worry I'll keep training. I know how important it is. Life and death right?" Sam said it very calmly.

Dean was getting more concerned by the second. Something was seriously wrong. "Sam tell me what's wrong"

"Everything is fine Dean. Listen, I need to finish sharpening these knives before bed so I'll just talk to you later ok?"

Dean was not ok with that at all. "Listen Sammy I'll be there with you soon ok? So don't, don't worry. I'm on my way now."

"I'll just talk to you later Dean. I've got to go now." Sam hung up and Dean started the car. He should never have left Sam to begin with. Whatever was happening with Sam, Dean knew it was his fault.

-o-o-o-o

Thanks so much for reading. I always love and appreciate any reviews. I really want to know what you think. I'll try to update as soon as possible.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed my story. I appreciate your comments so much. I worked extra hard to get this chapter out quickly to show my appreciation. As always thank you to my beta Warr2654

-o-o-o-o-

Chapter 8 Saturday June 13th 1998 Butte, Nebraska

Sam hung up the phone and stared at the knives in front of him. Picking one up, he began to sharpen it against the wet stone. His body felt so heavy. The air around him seemed thicker than usual. He wanted more than anything to just lay down.

He had been so sure that Dean would help him, but now it was clear he was wrong. '_Dean wants me to listen to Dad, to do whatever he said.'_ Sam's heart clenched at the thought of Dean standing there while his dad sparred with him. Dean said he wanted to be involved in the training himself. Sam pushed down the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him, settling into an uneasy numbness.

One by one he sharpened each knife, focusing on nothing else. As Sam began to put the knives away he heard his father get up from the kitchen table. His footsteps sounded in the hall, Sam knew he was coming to the living room. Sam clung to his numbness like a shield, he couldn't show fear. It was a sign of weakness.

Sam held his breath as his dad walked into the living room and calmly made his way to the couch. As he sat down Sam noted a beer in his hand. Sam looked at the floor, his heart thumping in his chest, while he continued to clean up. When he was finished Sam stood to put the now full bag of knives next to the couch where he had found it.

"You know you didn't have to sharpen all the knives?" His dad asked evenly as Sam set the bag down.

Sam's breath caught in his throat. He swallowed trying to think of an answer his father would be happy with. "I just thought you would want them in the best condition possible. Better safe than sorry right?" Sam kept his eyes down but he could feel his dad staring.

After a minute of silence his father sighed, "Alright well that's good I guess. You should probably go to bed. I figured we'd get back at it early tomorrow."

Sam glanced up to watch his father take a long swig of beer. "What are we working on tomorrow?" Sam asked trying to sound relaxed.

His dad shrugged, "I'm not sure yet. I'm going to think about it tonight. I think we need to try something different. What we've been doing isn't working."

Sam nodded because his mouth was too dry to make words. '_Something different._ _What we've been doing isn't working.' _Suddenly Sam knew in his heart things were only going to get worse, not better. What little hope he had left withered and died. "I'm going to bed." He said blankly before turning and walking to his room.

Sam closed and locked the door quietly before laying down fully dressed on the bed. His body ached in every nerve. Pressing his face into the pillow he took deep breaths. His thoughts assailed him: If he could just do better. If he wasn't so weak. If Dean had never left. If Mom had never died. What would happen tomorrow? He wasn't good enough, he knew it with all his heart. He never would be.

Sam closed his eyes, holding his breath. He needed to sleep. He needed to be ready for whatever was coming. Forcing his mind to clear Sam waited for sleep to take him. The exhaustion that had been weighing him down slowly overtook his body. His tensed muscles relaxed sending tingles of pain through him. The heaviness of the day settled over him like a blanket finally allowing him to fall asleep.

-o-o-o-o-

Sam awoke to cold metal pressed against his throat. His father's voice whispering in his ear, "You're lucky Dean and I are here to protect you, you pathetic excuse for a hunter."

Sam's eyes shot open at see the cold metal was a knife in his father's right hand. "How are you going to fight what's out there when you can't even protect yourself. I could kill you right now and you couldn't do anything but lay there and bleed out."

Alcohol heavy breath washed over Sam's face as terror filled him. Cold eyes, empty of anything but contempt met his own. His father straightened to stand next to the bed. Grabbing Sam's hair with his left hand, his father forced him to sit up while keeping the knife flush against his skin. Sam couldn't stop himself being dragged forward, off the bed. Sam slipped and felt the knife bite into the soft flesh under his right ear. His dad stood behind him forcing him onto the floor, "Get on your knees."

Sam bit back a cry as his bruised legs hit the wooden floor hard. He tried to maintain his composure but his voice shook as he spoke, "Dad please! What are you doing?" He couldn't see his dad's face; couldn't see what he was doing.

"Take off your shirt Sam." His dad's said as he pulled the knife away from his neck, but kept a hold of his hair.

Sam didn't want to listen. He didn't want to be here in this room. Closing his eyes Sam remembered Dean telling him about what Dad really did for a living. "Our Dad's a superhero."

A knee dug into Sam's back as his head was wrenched backwards at a sharp angle. The knife pressed into his cheek as his father's cold eyes stared into his own. "Don't make me tell you again!" His father shoved his head forward again and let him go.

Confused and afraid, choking down a sob, Sam pulled his shirt over his head. He wincing as his shoulder protested. He knelt, anxiously holding the shirt in his hands. Sam heard his dad moving behind him, but dread stopped him from looking.

Suddenly his father was crouching next to him holding a rag up to his face. "Open your mouth," his dad said calmly. "I don't want to wake the neighbors."

"Please Dad don't, I'll do better I pr-," Sam began to beg. The knife sliced through the skin of his shoulder. He cried out, but the rag being shoved in trapped the sound.

His father stood and moved behind him again. "Now Sam, don't move. Remember I'm doing this to help you."

Sam felt his body begin to shake as a sheen of cold sweat covered him. For several minutes there was no movement or sound from his father. Panic built slowly as he waited for whatever was about to happen.

He heard a short whistling of something moving quickly through the air. A burning pain tore across his shoulder blades. Sam screamed into the rag but it came out as a muffled groan. Before Sam could prepare himself, he heard the whistle again. The next strike curled around his side, biting into his ribs. Pain spread across his back, neck, and sides as he was hit several more times in quick succession. Sam curled forward onto the floor trying to move away; trying to escape.

His father chuckled and shoved Sam onto his stomach with a boot to the lower back. "I thought I told you not to move. We're not done yet, son."

Sam's cheek pressed into the floor as his father crouched next to him. He covered his face and closed his eyes. There was no escaping.

"Maybe if I had disciplined you more when you were young you wouldn't be so spineless now, but I guess we'll never know. I'm here to help you overcome your weaknesses. Do you think you can get better just by wishing for it? Today I realized what was necessary. You have to be pushed harder. You have to be made stronger. You should thank me for what I'm doing. I'm making you a man, a hunter. You want that don't you? You want to be able to help me, to help Dean? Well this is what it takes. It's the only way." His dad spoke softly, calmly, no anger in his voice as he explained himself.

Standing up again, his father brought his arm back and struck Sam again.

Long moments later, the blows stopped and Sam lay trembling on the floor. Blood pounded in his ears as he struggled to breathe through the rag. A strange numbness had spread through Sam's torso leaving him feeling disengaged from his surroundings. He distantly heard his father sit heavily on the bed and begin speaking again.

"I think that's enough for now. Don't you Sam? You've learned you lesson right?"

Sam didn't understand why this was happening. Two weeks ago he had been joking with Dean, worried about his finals. Now he was worried about being able to take a shower or get up in the morning without agony.

Sam's lack of response to the questions seemed to bother his father; because he stood up and walked over to stand above him again. Nudging a boot into Sam's bruised ribs his father said, "Enough with the pouting Sam. You're alright. Now get up."

Sam exhaled in pain but managed to push himself onto his hands and knees. His father bent down, gently pulling Sam to his feet and towards the bed. Sam tried to pull away, groaning through the rag as his whole being protested his movements. Pain radiated through every inch of his body. His dad held on firmly as he slowly led Sam to the bed and helped him lower himself onto his stomach. "It's alright Sam."

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, his dad reached forward and pulled the rag out of Sam's mouth. A small sob escaped as Sam turned away. His dad stroked his hair gently and began to speak softly, "I know it hurts, but it's supposed to hurt. That's how you get better. You were very brave Sam, and I'm proud of you."

Sam's heart twisted in his chest. His father was wrong. He wasn't brave. He was pathetic. He didn't know if he would ever be strong again, if he ever had been. Pressing his face into the pillow he tried and failed to contain the tears burning their way through his lashes. Once he started, he couldn't hold back the flood. He sobbed quietly for several minutes before he felt his dad pull him into his arms. He held on to his father, savoring the moment of comfort. Sam wanted his dad to be proud of him. He wanted to be a good son; he just didn't know if he could be who his father wanted.

He clutched his father's arms, "I'm sorry dad! I'm sorry I'm so weak! I'll get better. I will, I promise! Please don't be mad at me anymore. I'll do whatever you say."

His dad just rocked him as he begged forgiveness for whatever it was that was wrong with him. Once Sam's sobs abated, his father laid him back onto his stomach.

"It'll get better Sam don't worry. I'll help you get there. Right now you just need some sleep. In the morning you can show me you really mean what you're saying." His father stood and pulled the covers over Sam's damaged, bare back. Sam cringed but his dad sat back down and began stroking his hair again, soothing him.

Sam pushed his pain away choosing to focus on that sensation instead. Closing his eyes, Sam wished for Dean.

-o-o-o-o-

Dean will arrive and be back permanently in the next chapter. I know everyone's been missing him.


	9. Chapter 9

Special Thanks to my beta reader Warr2654. Also thanks to all my readers who have been waiting, sorry it took so long.

Chapter 9 Sunday June 14th 1998 Butte, Nebraska

-o-o-o-o-

Dean made good time driving through the night. The sun was high in the sky when he pulled off the highway onto the dirt road leading to the cabin deep in the woods. Dean knew he was being irrational. His father would tell him if something was wrong with Sam. His dad knew what he was doing. He told himself, and tried to believe, Sam was just being dramatic and everything was perfectly fine. Dean was not the kind of person who overreacted. He handled problems with sarcasm and a smile. There was only one hang up. It was the voice in the back of Dean's mind. The voice came from the part of Dean that was born on the night his mother died. The part of him that knew Sam was his responsibility. The voice said Sam needed him and no one else could help.

He trusted his father to take care of everything. There was only one exception. That exception was Sammy.

-o-o-o-o-

Sam awoke to a breeze wafting through the open window. The gentle wind carried with it a painful burning sensation to his back, shocking him into alertness. He winced as the memories washed over him. His father had visited him again in the night. He had beaten him with a belt and he said it was all to help him become stronger. As he laid face down on the mattress Sam barely had the strength to hold back the moisture in his eyes.

The sun was already up which meant Dad was too. Sam knew he needed to get out of bed. He pushed himself up slowly and got to his feet. Moving felt strange. He was in pain but more than anything he felt fatigued. A deep weariness had settled into his bones. He pulled a white thermal and cargo pants out of his dresser. The shirt stung as it settled when he put it on. Each day it was becoming more difficult to gather the fortitude to keep going. He didn't want to fail again. He didn't want to see that look in his dad's eyes. The disappointment that promised him punishment. It seemed insurmountable.

Sam walked cautiously into the kitchen to find his father sitting at the table. In front of him was a plate of eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast. There was a matching plate sitting on the stove. His dad looked up and smiled. "Morning Sam. I made some breakfast."

Sam focused on the floor. "Good morning Sir. Sorry, I should have been up earlier. I'll eat fast." He glanced up to see his dad lean back and study him. Sam tried to swallow the lump in his throat, while clenching his hands so they wouldn't shake.

"It's alright." His dad shifted his gaze back to his plate and he continued eating as he spoke. "Don't rush. You seemed a little worn out last night. You've been working really hard training. I like to see that, but we don't want to overdo it. If you get hurt, we won't be able to train anyway."

Picking up his plate, Sam went to the table and sat down carefully. His back barely brushed against the chair but the pain was immediate. He suppressed a groan and began eating. He didn't want to show his father he was hurting. If he didn't train he couldn't get better. He hated the training but he hated the weakness he saw in himself more. Keeping his eyes on his plate, Sam asked, "What's the plan for today's training?" His dad took a few bites before answering, "Well, I've been thinking about what you need to work on and I have some new methods I want to try out. I think we can take a break from hand to hand sparing until tomorrow."

Sam quietly let out the breath he had been holding. "I've decided we can work on some new things today. You're great with a gun, so let's see how you do with a knife."

Sam glanced up to see his father smiling. It didn't seem to be a threatening smile. Maybe his dad was giving him a chance to prove he wasn't a failure at everything. Maybe he couldn't fight, but he knew how to use a knife. He had been playing with them his entire life. He held a knife before he held a pencil. Sam smiled back. He could do this.

Sam walked outside with the bag of knives slung heavily over his sore shoulder. The sun was still low in the sky. With the help of some pain killers, and the prospect of making his father proud again, Sam was feeling anxiously hopeful. As he walked down the porch steps, he noticed the sparing circle had some new additions. The perimeter of the circle was now marked by six targets; set up with a few feet between each one. The targets faced inward towards the center. A chair was placed beside a small rectangular table just outside of the circle. His father stood waiting there. Sam closed the distance between them and set the bag he carried on the table.

His father opened the bag and began shuffling through the knives, pulling out several small blades. He held the knives out, "Alright Sam, what I want you to do is take these and go to the center of the circle. I want you to practice throwing in different directions. To begin face one target but throw at the target to the left of it. Understand?"

Sam nodded and took the knives. He placed one in each pocket and kept one in each hand. He walked into the circle and faced the target, while his father stood watching. He glanced at the target he was supposed to hit out of the corner of his eye. Sam clenched the handle and his teeth. He forced himself to take one steadying breath and then another. He measured the weight of the blade in his hand and calculated the angle he needed. He raised his hand and with a flick of his wrist the knife sliced through the air and found its mark. Pure relief washed over Sam.

He looked at his father to see him nod approvingly. "Good, now let's see you hit the one two to the right." Sam smiled as he prepared for his next throw.

An hour later Sam had hit every target his father asked him to, without missing once.

"Alright it looks like you have knives pretty much down. I admit I'm impressed. You're full of surprises." Sam looked into his father's eyes and recognized him again. He looked at Sam without any trace of the disappointment he carried last night. All Sam had to do was make his father proud. All he had to do was not fail.

"Thank you, Sir."His father furrowed his brow and looked at Sam as if puzzled.

Sam looked down and asked in a reserved voice, "Wh-what are we working on next?"

His father stretched and walked over to the table outside of the circle. He pulled something out of the pocket of a jacket, Sam hadn't noticed, hanging on the chair."I was thinking we could add a handicap to the training." He held out a length of fabric. Sam took the fabric, but didn't understand what he was supposed to do with it. Confusion must have shown on his face.

"It's a blindfold." His dad explained. "We'll see how your aim is when you can't see what you're throwing at." He walked back and sat in his chair, leaving Sam alone in the circle.

Sam stood for a moment apprehensively. "Any day now." His father remarked. Sam took a deep breath and raised the fabric to his face and tied it in place.

It was an unnerving feeling, not being able to see. He felt agitated and vulnerable. His blindness enhanced his awareness of the twinges and throbs radiating from his bruised body. It reminded him why he couldn't mess up, why he could not let himself fail, as if he needed reminding. He pulled the knife from his pocket and focused on where he remembered the target being. He let the blade fly and heard the thump of it hitting its mark. He threw the next two knives, both finding their targets. He was just beginning to find his rhythm when he felt a presence behind him.

"Well done, Sam."

He felt his father step in closer. The feeling of alarm and defenselessness flooded him. He couldn't see what his father was doing. It brought him back to the night before. He was on the floor; his father was raining blows down with the belt. Sam turned around quickly, holding out his hands to protect himself. He backed away trying to put distance between himself and his father. He stumbled and lost his balance. Panic overwhelmed him as he fell into one of the targets and tumbled to the ground.

"Sam? What's wrong?" His father barked in a worried voice.

Sam could hear his father coming towards him. He put a hand up to ward his father off. It didn't work. His father pushed his arm aside and took a hold of his shoulders, "What is it Sam?" His father barked is a harsh voice.

"Please don't," he whispered as he tried to pull away from his father's grasp.

Then Sam noticed another sound in the distance. A sound he had missed and longed for. A voice that would save him. "Sammy?!"

-o-o-o-o-

Dean reached the end of the dirt road. It opened into a clearing where the cabin stood. He parked next to his father's truck. He walked up the short path to the backdoor of the cabin. As he reached the steps he heard his father's voice coming from around the front of the house. Dean walked around the cabin. There in the clearing, he saw Sam and his dad at a distance, standing in circle of targets. He saw Sam throw a knife smoothly across the circle. It looked like everything was alright after all. He stood and watched as Sam threw two more. They both hit the target. Dean smiled as he felt his chest fill with pride. His dad walked up casually behind Sam and said something he couldn't make out. Dean watched as Sam's entire body tensed and went ridged. He turned around, stumbled backwards, and fell through a target onto the ground. Dean's heart dropped into his stomach as he took off running across the clearing."Sammy!?"

Dean knew the moment Sam heard his voice. His brothers head turned in his direction, shaggy hair falling in his face. He reached up grasping a blindfold and ripping it off. Sam's eyes took only seconds to find on him. His father turned away from Sam and stood watching as Dean ran towards them. Climbing to his feet, Sam stared at him for a moment, as if confused by what he was seeing.

"Dean?" Sam stepped forward, leaving their father standing beside the fallen target.

Sam didn't run to him. Instead he stopped just outside the circle. Stopping a few feet away him, Dean took in Sam's appearance. He looked the same but somehow different, older. His eyes met Dean's for a moment before glancing back at their father. Dean took a few steps forward, closing the distance between Sam met his eyes again, Dean flashed his signature smile.

"Hey Sam, Jim ran out of pie so I decided to come home early." He waited for Sam to smile back. Sam didn't disappoint him. His face broke into a wide grin.

"I don't want to break it to you Dean, but we don't have any pie here either."

Dean shrugged as he felt the knot in his stomach loosen. Sam was safe. "Forget it. I had enough at Jim's anyway." He looked over Sam's shoulder to see his father slowly making his way over to them.

"Hey Dean. I didn't expect you back until tomorrow. Is everything good?" John asked as he reached them.

Dean nodded, as he glanced around the clearing. Everything did seem to be fine. All the worrying and driving all night had apparently been an overreaction.

"Yeah, I finished helping Jim out with the repairs so I figured I'd cut the trip short." His dad nodded. He accepted the explanation and moved on.

"Well that works out fine. Sam has a few more drills before he's done. I'm going to head inside and make some lunch. Come inside when you're ready and tell me about your trip. Don't take too long." Dean nodded but his father was already walking away, towards the cabin.

Dean looked at Sam to see his smile had faded slightly. "Is that cool with you Sam? You can tell me all about what I've missed when you're done. Alright?"

Dean noticed Sam glanced toward their father before shrugging. "Yeah that sounds good. I should get back to training before the sun gets too low. I still have my run to do after drills."

As he spoke, Sam began walking away from him, toward the training circle. He looked back and stared at Dean for a moment. A relaxed expression was set firmly on Sam's face, but his eyes looked weary.

"I'll get to talk to you later right? You'll be here?"

Sam's asked the question lightly, as if he wasn't worried. Dean wasn't fooled. He focused on Sam's eyes, serious for a moment, because his brother needed him; needed to believe him.

"I'll be here Sammy. I'm not leaving again." Something akin to relief flashed momentarily in Sam's eyes before he nodded his head and turned away.

-o-o-o-o-

I hope you enjoyed it, if so please review and let me know.


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